


A True Son

by Maulfan



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Community: norsekink, Even Though They're Not Actually Related, Feels, Gen, Miscommunication is a Family Trait, Moderately Graphic Violence, Tactless!Thor, Wounded!Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:56:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maulfan/pseuds/Maulfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"Your tears are a disgrace. Your struggles are a disgrace. Real warriors do not cry and they do not lose control. They are not cowards. They are strong. You are my brother, and a son of Odin is supposed to be strong. Your weakness is a disgrace.”</em> </p>
<p>He thinks the hotness inside might be guilt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A True Son: Thor's POV

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing.
> 
> Written for Norsekink [Here](http://norsekink.livejournal.com/11337.html?thread=27769161#t27769161):

Loki will not stop moving.  
  
Thor kneels on his little brother’s arms, straining against a strength borne of pain, and Volstagg pins Loki's knees. And yet still Loki will not stop moving. His body writhes like some demented lizard as he twists to get an arm free to claw once more at his innards and almost his bones seem to crack as he tries to curl himself inwards about the wound.  
  
“You must hold still,” Thor says, hoarse with fear.  
  
He had been a fool to bring them on this quest. He sees it now, knows it, and yet his knowledge had come too late. Too late to run, and too late to retreat, for Heimdall would not take them back while their foes yet lived.  
  
Well. They live no longer.  
  
And yet before the last of the dark elves had fallen, they had released a cruel dart into Loki’s belly.  
  
“The poison will kill you if but one piece of it snaps,” Fandral says, hand steady about the steel shaft.  
  
“ _Hurts_ ,” Loki rasps, and there should have been more only Fandral moves a little and Loki’s back arches in sudden agony.  
  
Thor’s fingers tighten as his brother’s lips work uselessly, soundless words mixed with keening cries. He can’t do anything. He can do nothing save sit here watching his brother die knowing none of this would have happened if he had not chosen to come here. That none of this would have happened if just hadn’t let Loki be hit.  
  
That this would not be happening now if Loki would just hold _still_.  
  
He wants to shake Loki and _make_ him hold still, and he loathes himself for it before the thought has fully formed.  
  
Loki makes a sharp, panting noise that is another drawn out ‘hurts’.  
  
Thor feels helpless. He does not know what to do.  
  
“Brother, you must stop moving,” he pleads.  
  
Beneath him, Loki thrashes more.  
  
Sif, ashen-faced beside Fandral, clenches her hands impotently.  
  
“I can’t risk pulling the arrow out,” Fandral says.  
  
Loki’s eyes are wet with tears and he can’t fix it, can’t help him, suddenly something in him snaps because they’re warriors and they’re trained for this and Loki isn’t supposed to be like this because there’s not supposed to be nothing he can do.  
  
“You shame the House of Odin, Loki,” he says, and Loki’s shallow gasp _stings_ but not enough to make him stop.  
  
“Thor,” Fandral says sharply.  
  
Thor ignores him.  
  
“Your tears are a disgrace. Your struggles are a disgrace. Real warriors do not cry and they do not lose control. They are not cowards. They are _strong_. You are my brother, and a son of Odin is supposed to be _strong_. Your _weakness_ is a _disgrace_.”  
  
His little brother’s eyes go impossibly wide, and the tears don’t stop.  
  
He needs them to stop.  
  
“Stop, Loki. You must stop.”  
  
Something unhappy and shamed happens to Loki’s eyes then, and he looks away like he can’t make himself meet Thor’s eyes anymore. This time, when Fandral twitches the arrow, though every tendon stands out in Loki’s neck, though his teeth half bite through his lips, he doesn’t move.  
  
A dribble of blood trickles down his cheek to the grass.  
  
“The dagger, Sif,” Fandral says, and two seconds later he’s cutting in bluntly and Loki is making pained whimpers and scrabbling his fingers into Thor’s wrists, but he doesn’t scream and he doesn’t twist away.  
  
Thor wonders, vaguely, why Loki couldn’t do this _before_.  
  
He thinks the hotness inside might be guilt.  
  
“It’s in his kidney,” Fandral says queasily, “That’s—how did his kidney get there?”  
  
“Does it matter?” Sif snaps.  
  
“Not really,” Fandral mutters, “But I know I screamed like a bedded virgin that time you punched me in mine. And that was just a punch.”  
  
That gets something close to a twitch from Loki.  
  
The rest of it passes in a blur.  
  
He thinks he starts repeating ‘You will be fine’ and the words become meaningless long before they stop. He remembers Loki still won’t look at him. He remembers Fandral saying 'I'm sorry' and the sound of metal chopping into meat and those stifled gasps and sharp nails breaking against his wrist and blood and flowers and dusk.  
  
It takes Loki two hours to heal after the barb is out.  
  
Loki sticks close to Fandral and doesn’t say much to anyone while his side closes over.

No one tells Thor he was wrong to say what he did.  
  
No one needs to.  
  
When they return to Asgard, Odin sends Loki to his room with a gruff order to rest and spends the rest of the evening explaining to Thor all the reasons why big brothers Do Not Do what he did.  
  
OoOoOoOoO  
  
Thor never does get around to saying ‘sorry’.  
  
At first it is because he does not know how. And then, later, because he is, and he knows Loki knows he is, of course Loki knows, so why bother?  
  
OoOoOoOoO  
  
He doesn’t remember when it is that what happened stops being horrific and starts being a memory to jest at. A decade at least, he thinks.  
  
Loki laughs with them too.  
  
Fandral doesn't.  
  
OoOoOoOoO  
  
Fifty years later, it is Thor who is hit in the stomach.  
  
Every nerve feels on fire and he knows, just knows, that it would stop if he could just remove his stomach too and he wants to demand that they _let_ him, but it’s all he can do to bite back his screams.  
  
Methodically, Loki gives him a sturdy stick to bite on.  
  
Methodically, Loki’s magic holds back his straining wrists where his friends never could.  
  
And then Loki’s hand is on his stomach and there’s still a hole there but the pain _ends_ and—  
  
“Br—Brother?” he manages.  
  
“I learned spells to counter their poisons. And to dissolve their metals,” Loki shrugs, “It seemed prudent.”  
  
He extends a hand and Thor takes it, drawing himself to his feet.  
  
His cheeks feel wet.  
  
Tears.  
  
“Brother…”  
  
“You wish to be cleaned up before they,” a casual gesture to where Sif and the Warriors Three are killing the last of the dark elf raiders, “see?”  
  
One dark eyebrow is quirked, and there is a hint of a wry smile on his little brother’s mouth.  
  
"Why would you help me with this?" Thor blurts out.  
  
Loki hesitates. Shrugs.  
  
"Why not? You are no coward, Thor. And you are my brother. They will— Not Fandral, perhaps, but the rest. I would not have you so humiliated."

_I would not have you so humiliated._  
  
He stares at Loki, limbs shaking, hand about his stomach, and suddenly…  
  
Suddenly he has never felt less like a brother, or more ashamed.

“Loki? I never… I am sorry. I _never_ should have said those words that day. I was wrong to say crying made you weak.”

Loki's eyes widen, and his face goes white.

His fingers spasm.

And then, slowly, his little brother smiles.

“I know that," Loki says, voice choked, "And I forgive you."

Thor smiles back.

And all is well.


	2. A True Son: Loki's POV

He can’t move.

Distantly, he is aware of Thor holding his arms and Volstagg crushing his legs. Distantly, he is aware of staring at Thor’s eyes because Thor cares and Thor needs to understand that he is hurting him and he wants to move. _Needs_ to move, to ease the white fire exploding in his belly and he lets out a scream as something moves in his gut, agony spiking through every nerve.

“ _Hurts_ ,” he says, and he wants to say ‘please’ and ‘let go’ but his mouth won’t work.

Thor keeps saying ‘Hold still’ but Thor doesn’t understand that if he could just move, just rip out the arrow and his stomach and maybe—

His whole body arches as another bout of pain rips through him.

_Owowhurtspleasepleasestopstophurts_

All that escapes him is a wheeze.

He tries to tear his hands free, and he can’t do anything and he _needs this to stop._

Thor’s hands tighten.

And then his eyes go cold. Disgusted.

“You shame the House of Odin, Loki.”

Something slimy and sick explodes inside and he thinks he forgets how to breathe.

“Your tears are a disgrace. Your struggles are a disgrace. Real warriors do not cry and they do not lose control. They are not cowards. They are _strong_. You are my brother, and a son of Odin is supposed to be _strong_. Your _weakness_ is a _disgrace_.”

Tears? He feels his face going first white, then red.

He had thought it was blood.

Had thought—

But of course it’s not. Of course it isn’t and he can’t _stop_ the tears even now he knows they’re there and the shame he feels burns him deeper somehow even then the poison.

 _Your weakness is a disgrace_.

He can’t make himself meet Thor’s gaze.

Something shifts in his belly once more and he tries, tries so very hard not to move now because he doesn’t want to be a disgrace. A dull throbbing starts in his lip, and he doesn’t care. It’s nothing compared to the other.

The words wash in and out about him.

_’In his kidney…’_

_’… Matter?’_

_“I know I screamed like a bedded virgin that time you punched me in mine. And that was just a punch.”_

Something in the words cuts through the fog of humiliation—understanding, perhaps—and he wants to say ‘thank you’. But all that happens is a weak twitch. And then the pain blankets everything again and reality is lost in a meaningless jumble of ‘You will be well’s and an unending struggle to not move, to please not move, because he is a Son of Odin.

It takes two hours for his wound to close.

Fandral tells him softly that Thor’s words are wrong and that he’s sorry Thor said them.

That _he_ sometimes cries.

Loki nods, and thinks that Fandral is not Thor.

When they get back from their quest, Odin sends him to his chambers with a dismissive command to ‘rest’ and spends the rest of the evening with Thor.

He tries not to feel jealous.

He was weak, so of course father is disappointed.

He resolves in the future to try to be _more_.

OoOoOoOoO

Thor never says he is sorry. No one seems to expect him to.

Why should they? He is right. Right that his tears were a disgrace, and he makes sure that next time he has spells to counter such venom at hand. He steals some of the venom and uses it on himself inside his chambers. Practices until he can resist it. Until his spells obey him and his eyes remain dry even as the agony consumes him.

He is a Son of Odin, and he will not be weak.

OoOoOoOoO

It’s Sif who snickers first at his cowardice.

“Do you remember that time when that arrow hit your stomach? I swear you wept like a girl.”

“You would know, of course,” he says sweetly.

Her eyes flash, but the jests do not stop.

“...cried a little fountain...”

“…magic making you soft?”

“Weak.”

“Weak.”

“Weak.”

Eventually, he gives up trying to fight them and laughs too.

Only Fandral never laughs. For that, he spares Fandral from his petty attempts at revenge.

OoOoOoOoO

Fifty years later, it is Thor who is hit.

He doesn’t think as he thrusts the stick between Thor’s lips and kneels beside him in the dirt to fix him. Doesn’t think as he offers to remove the signs that Thor is not perfect either and tells his brother _why_.

Thor’s face is red with the dull flush of shame.

“Loki? I never… I am sorry. I never should have said those words that day. I was wrong. Crying does not make you weak.”

For one horrible moment, rage lashes through him.

He wants to hit Thor. Hurt Thor. How _dare_ Thor say this is no weakness only after he shares it? How dare Thor make him struggle half a _century_ trying to fight this, only to say now there was never a reason to fight at all? How dare Thor not fight _too?_

He drives his nails into his palms and fights to regain control.

“I know that. And I forgive you,” he says, and his smile feels like a sickly thing.

Thor’s face breaks into a smile.

OoOoOoOoO

Eight centuries later, Thor stares up at the destroyer and says once more that he is sorry.

There’s nothing specific. Nothing to suggest Thor even remembers any reason why he should be sorry. This is not an apology. This is a pitiful attempt to soothe the savage _beast_ and protect his real friends. A thousand incidents, a thousand petty slights come to mind, and for a moment, all his love is consumed by hate.

The Destroyer turns, and its spiked gauntlet backhands Thor to the ground.


End file.
